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“Might have to delay my trip to Coral Canyon,” he said, reaching for her hand.
Opal stood, and he tugged her closer.
“Do you think two of us could fit on this couch?” he whispered.
“We can find out.”
Tag shifted to lay sideways on the couch, and Opal sat down and then lay with her back pressed to his chest. He covered her with the blanket and looked past her dark hair to his dog. “Thank you, Opal.”
He encircled her in his arms, really enjoying the way she fit, and the addition of the sound of her breathing to his life as he finally fell asleep.
Tag woke to the sound of snoring, and he thought he’d finally found a weakness of Opal’s. Then he realized it was one of the dogs, and he pushed himself up onto an elbow—which wasn’t that easy against the blow-up couch.
It finally held his weight, and he peered over Opal’s shoulder. The canines both laid on their sides—Boots hadn’t moved at all, which sent a sliver of concern through him—and it was Max making the offensive noises. His back paws twitched as he ran somewhere fun and wild in his sleep, and Tag smiled at them.
Opal groaned then, and he settled back into position against the cushy arm of the couch. She turned right into his chest, and Tag sank down a little further into the squishy air couch-that-was-a-bed.
A dog whimpered, and Tag tensed. “He’s okay,” Opal murmured. “I just checked on him, and he’s not running a fever.”
“You just checked on him?”
“Maybe a half-hour ago.” She snuggled deeper into his chest. “I gave him some more pain meds, and I checked his bandages. He’s not bleeding anymore.”
“Mm.”
“You snore,” she whispered.
“That was Max,” he whispered back.
“Sure it was.” He could practically see her smile in her voice, and it made him smile.
The next time he woke, it still hadn’t started getting light beyond the upper barn windows. But the sun didn’t rise until later in the morning in the winter, and Tag’s body told him he needed to get up.
That, and his phone buzzed against his thigh. Opal didn’t stir even a little bit, and Tag managed to get his device out without disturbing her. Five-fifty, when his alarm usually went off at six.
Good enough for him. He had three texts from Deacon Hammond, the last one saying that the vet had an appointment at nine-ten for Boots. Relief painted through Tag’s soul, and he lowered his phone and pressed his eyes closed.
“Thank you, Jesus,” he said. He never wanted to go back to the feelings he’d had last night. The pure desperation still coating the very back of his throat, and he couldn’t quite swallow all of it away.
Which was silly, really, because Tag had owned several dogs before. The circle of life dictated that they’d die before him, but he didn’t want Boots to pass because he’d been stubborn and hadn’t listened to God when he’d been told to go find his dog.
Another vibration, and Tag looked at his phone again. From Gerty: How’s Boots?
I hope he’s okay, and you can obviously take whatever time you need to take him into the vet today.
He’s made it through the night, Tag tapped out. Thanks to Opal. She also texted Deacon, and he got me an appointment just after nine.
I’m calling Bryce to postpone our trip to Coral Canyon until next week.
You don’t have to do that, Tag said. I can go.
No, we’ll just wait a week. I know Boots won’t be healed by then, but at least we won’t have to leave him with Opal, Max, West, and the whole farm only two days in. It just feels like too much.
Tag knew what else she needed to say, but he’d worked with Gertrude Hammond long enough to know she wouldn’t say it. She possessed a mighty stubborn streak, but Tag had a pretty good track record of saying something once and getting her to go along with him.
It was only what she was already thinking anyway and just didn’t want to admit.
That’ll give you some time to hire another farmhand, he said. We can’t take on four more horses, just the two of us, and you need someone here when we get back with those animals.
